


Flashes in the Pan

by albaparthenicevelut



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albaparthenicevelut/pseuds/albaparthenicevelut
Summary: Obi Wan isn't quite sure what his newest, young coworker, Anakin Skywalker and said coworker's beautiful wife want from him but he's happy to go along with it for the time being.





	Flashes in the Pan

Part I

The first day Skywalker comes to Obi Wan’s office and leans insouciantly against the door. He looks young and absurdly attractive as usual. Obi Wan hates him a little.

“Padme wants to meet you.” He announces, as if this somehow makes sense. Padme is Anakin’s wife and like Anakin, something of a prodigy, a fairly high-ranking member of the State Department at only 25. She’s absurdly attractive too, if the pictures in Anakin’s office are to be believed. Obi Wan raises one eyebrow.

“I hope you haven’t told her anything you shouldn’t, my very young partner.” He replies mildly. His and Anakin’s work is classified. Talking about it is strictly off limits, even to spouses within the government. Anakin scoffs. 

“Of course not… I’m not an idiot. Last time I checked, you weren’t classified, Kenobi.” Obi Wan blinks slowly.  
“I might be.” He replies with a slow smile. “How much do you really know about me?” Anakin laughs.

“That sounds like a yes to me. Come on. Padme is already waiting at Dauphine. You’ll love their wine list.” For reasons that Obi Wan tries not to examine closely, he closes the file, gets to his feet and follows.

Part II

“Palpatine is being a sinister, obstructionist bastard, Anakin is off who knows where, doing who knows what, my mom wants to know why she still doesn’t have any grandchildren, and I need a partner for the ballroom dancing class or I can’t join.” Padme says exasperatedly. She throws back the rest of her gin and tonic and signals the bartender to bring her another one in one smooth gesture. 

Obi Wan takes another sip of his brandy. It’s his third tonight. He can feel slowing his thoughts and his tongue, making everything softer and more immediate. He feels laid open, pinned by Padme’s amber dark eyes. He hopes she doesn’t notice.

“I can assist you with one of those problems, though I cannot promise that I will make for a good dance partner. It’s been many years since I’ve danced in any capacity.” He tells her quietly. She smiles and Obi Wan could swear that there is smug satisfaction and perhaps a bit of heat behind it. 

“I think you’re going to be an excellent partner.” She says warmly and with total sincerity.

Part III 

He is at Anakin and Padme’s beautifully appointed apartment lounging on their couch, ankle crossed over his knee. Anakin is seated in the armchair across from him elbows on his knees, bent forward, the picture of intensity to Obi Wan’s languid relaxation. 

They are laughing about something work related. Mace Windu is on a rampage and the junior members of the service have been in an uproar for days. Padme is working late so Anakin invited Obi Wan back for take-away and beer. Lately it seems like all of Obi Wan’s time is spent with either Anakin or Padme, or even more pleasantly, both of them at once.

It is an odd arrangement and if Obi Wan doesn’t quite understand why a beautiful couple fifteen years his junior wishes to spend so much time with him, he at least tries not to question it. That night, he and Anakin talk late into the night; so late that he is still there when Padme returns; so late that he stays the night on their couch. Again.

Part IV

It isn’t often that Obi Wan takes a sick day much less an entire week but the news that his father died of a massive heart attack knocks him flat. Obi Wan hadn’t spoken to Qui Gon in years, the hurt and silence yawning between them like a chasm. Now he never would. 

He’d driven north for the funeral, sat dry-eyed through the service and then driven back. He hadn’t stopped for sleep or food, just driven, pale and wide-eyed, hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

It didn’t matter. Except it did. Qui Gon had left him everything he owned, which, this being Qui Gon, had amounted to nothing more than a couple boxes, a ramshackle old farmhouse on Block Island entirely lacking modern amenities, and an envelope on which his name was written in Qui Gon’s chicken scratch. 

Obi Wan had dutifully unpacked the boxes with trembling fingers. Had stacked the notes for Qui Gon’s latest articles in neat little piles with his ridiculous dinosaur of a laptop, had bagged up his tiny collection of clothes for Goodwill, had studiously avoided the photo albums where the scant images of their tiny family were preserved. He hadn’t opened the envelope. It sat in the middle of his kitchen like an accusation.

Obi Wan is finishing his third glass of the tequila he generally keeps around for Satine when the doorbell rings. Obi Wan slumps at the table, debates with himself on the merits of pretending he isn’t home, is just about decided on this course of action when Anakin’s voice filters into the apartment.

“Come on Obi Wan. We know you’re in there. You wouldn’t take a week off unless you were at death’s door. Look, I know you probably feel awful right now but if you come get the door you can have the soup Padme and I brought.” 

Obi Wan thumps his head against the table. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be anything other than an emotional wreck. The thought of their company fills him with relief but equally he can feel the strong emotions battering at his composure. He doesn’t think he can talk to them without breaking down.

“Obi Wan?” This time Padme speaks, “Obi Wan, I will pick your lock. Come on. It’s matzo ball soup, my Grandmother’s recipe; a closely guarded Naberrie family secret. You should be honored.” 

After a brief war with himself Obi Wan gets up and opens the door. One look at their furrowed brows and worried eyes and he dissolves into tears. Sometime later he does get to eat Padme’s soup. It’s as good as promised. Anakin and Padme spend the night in the guest bedroom. Obi Wan tries not to notice how much better it feels to know that they’re there.

The next day they sit with him while he opens Qui Gon’s letter. It is both better and worse than he expected but Padme and Anakin are there and they get him through it.

Part V

When it finally happens, they are relaxing on Anakin and Padme’s couch. The television is on. They’ve somehow ended up practically on top of each other. Anakin is sprawled out on the couch, propped up on the armrest. Padme leans back against his chest in the vee of his legs. Obi Wan is seated upright, Anakin’s feet in his lap.

Padme sits up, pulling herself to her knees beside Obi Wan. Carefully telegraphing each movement, she takes Obi Wan’s face in between her palms and kisses him. She is gentle, tentative. She pulls back glancing at Anakin, who is watching them both with heated possessive eyes. She cocks one eyebrow at Obi Wan.

“So?” She asks. Obi Wan feels like words may be a bit beyond him at the moment. Fortunately, this answer doesn’t require them.


End file.
